


salt makes it sweeter

by eversall



Series: acquired tastes [1]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-06-01 17:50:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15148562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eversall/pseuds/eversall
Summary: "Are you two dating?” Alec wonders. “Is that what this is?”“This is a bromance,” Simon insists weakly.Jace chooses that moment to reappear. He has on cupcake-shaped oven mitts, and he slams down a tray of brownies. “This is a romance,” he says threateningly, “because all’s fair in love and war and this is a little bit of both, so shut up and eat your goddamn full-gluten sea salt caramel brownies.”.





	salt makes it sweeter

**Author's Note:**

> this is like my thousandth coffee shop au. i don't even care. this one specifically has been in my drafts forever as "a coffee shop au but with a bad attitude". fight me.

Simon decides to blame Clary for this, because only her unique brand of kindness mixed with patently blind gullibility and optimism could have gotten her into becoming so attached to the health-centered café that her new girlfriend’s best friend runs that he’d willingly be forking over nearly five dollars for a wholesome, organic latte served in a cup small enough to be considered kid size.

“This tastes like Starbucks, except I paid more money for less of it,” he hisses to her when they’re finally seated at the upcycled wooden tables. Clary hums.

“Say that to my face,” a deep voice says from behind them, and Simon whips around to face the most buff person he’s ever seen rock a man bun. Said person has arms that look like they could crush Simon’s neck single-handedly (or, his brain helpfully supplies, manhandle him in other ways), and is currently glaring at Simon like he wants to do exactly that.

Clary, unperturbed as always, smiles and chirps “Hi Jace!” like a demented Tweety. Simon loves her, but she’s never actually had the best self-preservation instincts – worse than him, really, except she always carries a knife with her, so she gets out of things okay and _he does not_.

Jace looks at her, and like many red-blooded males, the sight of a smiling Clary Fray is enough to melt the glare off his face. He turns his gaze to Simon, then her, and then Simon again.

“This is Simon?” he asks, sounding genuinely curious. Simon sticks his hand out.

“This is Simon. Lewis. That’s my last name, I mean, I don’t – it’s not Lewis Simon, it’s Simon Lewis, I don’t go by Lewis, I – God,” he trails off weakly, “why am I still talking?” Jace looks bemused, and then his eyes flick down and drag up, so slowly that even Simon can’t deny that Jace is checking him out.

He takes Simon’s hand and shakes it, hands warm and his fingers dragging across Simon’s palm as he lets go. “Clary’s told me a lot about you,” Jace says, and then he smirks, “and how you worship Starbucks.”

Simon glares at Clary, who shrugs, looking unrepentant. “You have a problem.”

“I do _not_ ,” Simon glances at Jace, who’s openly grinning now, eyes crinkled at the corners. It makes something in Simon’s chest flutter, something dainty that probably belongs in a Jane Austen novel, and not in Simon’s heart.

“It’s got more caffeine than Starbucks’ roast,” Jace finally says, nodding at the coffee cup. “It was nice to meet you, Simon. If you stop by again and admit that you were wrong about my latte – which, you’ll see you _were_ , don’t worry – I might make you a Frappucino.” He honest-to-God _winks_ at Simon as he walks away, and Simon hates himself a little for watching Jace’s fantastic ass.

“Hey Simon,” Clary stage whispers, little drama queen that she is, “I didn’t bring you here for the food. I brought you here for _him_.”

Simon fixes her with a look, which she shrugs off. “You’re not setting us up,” he says, and then he feels the need to lower his voice and whisper “I am _way_ too emotionally stupid to make a good boyfriend.” Clary takes a pointed sip of her coffee.

“You’ve reached your quota for self-deprecation today,” she announces, and then she pats his hand. “You’re only allowed to say pleasant things now, like, ‘I am Simon Lewis and I’d make a sweet, thoughtful, boyfriend, and people from the past don’t get to influence decisions about my present.’”

Simon raises his eyebrows. “Got any more Hallmark platitudes up your sleeve?”

“No.” She grins. “I’ve reached _my_ quota for the day.”

.

“Your coffee was surprisingly good, and I want to know how you plan on making me a Frappucino when they’re trademarked by Starbucks and you’re not legally allowed to call them Frappucinos,” Simon says in one breath the next time he sees Jace. It’s raining outside, he doesn’t have Clary with him, and Jace’s little shop is a good ten minutes out of the way of the apartment Simon shares with Clary. There’s absolutely _no_ excuse for him to be here, but he’s counting on Jace not pushing it if he strokes his ego enough about the coffee.

Jace proves once and for all that the universe isn’t on Simon Lewis’ side when he straightens from his slouch and looks up in surprised delight. “Simon! I can’t believe you actually went and asked Izzy when it’s me at the cashier and not one of my employees. You’re ridiculous, man.”

Simon can feel his cheeks getting warm with embarrassment, and he points his phone at Jace. “Wrong, Izzy volunteered that information to me when I asked her when Clary and I should come over for dinner. Your sister is a menace and I wish we weren’t all interconnected through friends and siblings and romantic life partners.”

Jace is still grinning, leaning over the counter on his elbows. “I think it’s rather cute we’re all one big happy family. It’s a bit like a Lifetime movie.” He brushes his hair back, and Simon’s seized by the irrational urge to touch it, to see if the strands of blonde hair are as smooth as they look. He squashes the urge deep down in the back of his mind where he shoves things he’s not supposed to think about. “So. Frappucino?”

Simon sighs, and then nods. Jace makes himself busy pouring out milk and measuring coffee beans, and there’s a peaceful silence for a while as Simon watches Jace work. His hands are deft and sure, and Simon likes the way he moves, confident and comfortable in a way that soothes the rapid stuttering of Simon’s heart. It’s a strange thing to be calmed by, but outside the rain is drumming a steady beat into the concrete sidewalk and inside Jace is looking at him with those blue-brown eyes and sliding a whipped-cream monstrosity across the counter with a small smile that softens his eyes and pulls out a tiny dimple that Simon has to drag his gaze away from.

“So,” Simon says into the silence.

Jace taps the cup. “This is my not-Frappucino.”

“That’s trademarked.”

“That’s why it’s _not_ a Frappucino.”

Simon rolls his eyes and picks the straw out of the drink, scooping whipped cream up with the end of it and sucking it off with an obnoxious noise. He studiously doesn’t look at Jace as he does it, but Jace clears his throat anyway.

“That’s barbaric,” Jace says, and Simon flicks whipped cream at Jace in retaliation, watching in satisfaction as Jace splutters and says crossly that he’s never pulling out the organic heavy whipping cream for Simon again.

.

Clary forces Simon to make something for a potluck that Izzy’s having at her apartment, and when Simon hears that Jace is coming he viciously makes cherry pies out of canned ingredients and pre-frozen pie crusts and tops it all off by bringing two cans of Readi-Whip with him. The look on Jace’s face when he sees what Simon is setting out on the table is priceless.

Jace rounds on his sister. “Why did you assign dessert duty to _him_?” he hisses. Izzy looks pleased with herself as she shepherds everyone into seats at the table, forcing Simon down in between Bat and Jace.

“We _always_ eat your desserts,” she says, “I wanted some variety!”

“Plus,” Clary adds, bravely reckless as always, “that quinoa-chocolate-nut bark that you left for her last time was so unnaturally healthy that she had to go buy Taco Bell after.”

Simon snorts into his cup as Jace gapes soundlessly at that, and then says, outraged, “ _There’s no such thing as unnaturally healthy_!” Izzy shrugs, unrepentant, and when Jace looks back at the Readi-Whip with an intense look of loathing on his face Simon starts laughing so hard that he chokes on his beer, and Magnus has to thump him on the back as he coughs.

“There, there, children,” Magnus says, “let’s flirt a little less and enjoy dinner a little more.”

“Alec is playing footsie with you,” Jace says triumphantly, “so I’ll flirt with Simon all I like.”

It’s Simon’s turn to splutter helplessly, and Jace, the utter bastard, grins. How he _still_ managed to come out on top of this conversation is beyond Simon, but he hopes his cherry pie makes Jace question all his annoyingly healthy life choices.

Across the table, Maia raises one delicate eyebrow at Simon, her gaze flicking between them meaningfully. Simon blinks back at her like he has no idea at all what she’s implying, and she rolls her eyes and looks at Bat for support.

“I know,” Bat says mournfully to her, as if they’re both some sort of matchmaking pariahs.

.

“So what exactly _is_ going on here?” Alec asks the next week, eyeing the bowl of caramel Jace is covering with cling film. He warily picks up the milk and reads the label. “Whole milk? From a _cow_? I haven’t seen you use this since we were in high school.”

“That’s depressing,” Clary mutters, slurping noisily at her bizarre order of coffee with a bunch of natural extracts or whatever. Simon doesn’t even pay attention; all he knows is that while both Jace and Clary’s coffee always tastes weirdly herbal, Jace makes him a mocha, and it just tastes blessedly like Starbucks.

Jace ignores all of them and disappears into the back. The smell of rich chocolate and caramel is wafting from the kitchen, and Alec squints suspiciously at Simon.

“What?” Simon asks defensively. “I wanted brownies that were made from real flour. I’m not _good_ with all this health stuff. I just don’t trust it.”

“We’ve had to get used to Jace’s _health stuff_ for years now, and suddenly he’s making full fat desserts. Are you two dating?” Alec wonders. “Is that what this is?” 

“This is a bromance,” Simon insists weakly.

Jace chooses that moment to reappear. He has on cupcake-shaped oven mitts, and he slams down a tray of brownies. “This is a romance,” he says threateningly, “because all’s fair in love and war and this is a little bit of both, so shut up and eat your goddamn full-gluten sea salt caramel brownies.”

Simon doesn’t say anything, because he’s too busy simultaneously shoving brownies in his mouth and thinking about how much this is Clary’s fault. Jace looks like the epitome of everything Simon has ever wanted, and is _flirting_ with Simon to boot, and Simon still somehow feels like broken, damaged goods.

.

The next time Simon sees Jace, its in the aisle of the grocery store. Simon stares at him, and then quickly tosses the Oreos he’s holding into his cart before Jace can take away the one good thing in his life.

“Are you joking me?” he asks as Jace draws closer, not even bothering to greet Simon before he sweeps a critical eye over the food in Simon’s cart and shakes his head, clearly disappointed. “Isn’t there some organic superfood store you should be haunting?”

“No,” Jace shakes his head, poking at the frozen bag of French fries in Simon’s cart. “Hey, let me make you dinner.”

Simon feels the bottom drop out of his stomach. “Ooh, bad idea. No. Clary and Izzy – I don’t know where they are, so we can’t all do dinner.”

Jace looks at him and raises an eyebrow. “I’m asking you on a date. Last I checked, it isn’t protocol to take your sister with you on the first date.”

“Is it though?” Simon asks nonsensically before he says in a rush “Anyway I left the oven on and my apartment’s probably on fire, so I have to go, bye!” He ignores Jace’s irritatingly adorable look of utter confusion and wheels his cart to the check-out register, decides that a grocery run isn’t worth it anyway, and ditches all his groceries before power walking to the parking lot and getting into his car. He reasons that it’s not really running away from his problems if he’s driving.

.

It’s not that Simon doesn’t like Jace. He _does_.

It’s just that his heart is still a little broken and he feels like an overwhelmed mess at the thought of being vulnerable enough to let someone else see the ugly, anxious parts of him that he struggles to be okay with. He can’t go through having someone just to lose them again. He _can’t_.

.

Clary drags him back to the café, but Jace isn’t on duty so Simon spends ten minutes chewing forlornly on a peanut butter flaxseed-chia cookie that a barista named Raj recommends. Clary _loves_ it, but Simon is strongly considering chucking the square at the window and seeing if it’s strong enough to shatter it, or at least scratch it a little.

“Stop moping,” Clary tells him, “you’re being ridiculous.”  
“I’m being sad,” Simon tells her, “and that’s not even fair, you were a mess when you thought for an explosive half-day that Maia was straight and dating Bat.”

“Not my proudest moment,” Clary mutters, shaking her head and looking deeply ashamed. Simon opens his mouth to retort, but Jace appears at their table, his face impassive.

“Hi,” he grunts out, and Clary frowns at Simon, giving him a look that says _tell him what I coached you to say on the way over here,_ except Simon isn’t twelve anymore so he rebelliously keeps his mouth shut. Clary steps on his foot, and when that still doesn’t mobilize him into action and they’re all left looking at each other awkwardly like a ridiculous tableau, Clary finally sighs and speaks for Simon.

“He’s _sorry_ ,” she emphasizes, “for running away from you.”

Jace glares. “Is he, though,” he mutters. Simon groans and fixes his stare at a point on the wall behind Jace.

“I mean, I am,” he says quietly, dragging the words out of the corner of his heart that still seems to be functioning every time Jace looks at him like _that_.

There’s silence for a while, and then Jace sighs. “Stop treating that cookie like it’s a weapon and come over to the counter. I’ll make you some pumpkin muffins.”

Simon perks up as Clary’s eyes go wide at Jace.

“ _With_ gluten?” he asks hopefully at the same time that Clary says incredulously “With _gluten_?”, and Jace rolls his eyes.

“Yes,” he says gruffly. Clary still looks shocked, but Simon shrugs and hightails it after Jace, not wanting to lose the promised food. _He’s_ not going to question it, no matter how much it looks like Clary might be.

.

It becomes a _thing_ , for Simon to mope around Jace’s little café during off-hours, whenever Jace is the only one on shift. He goes and needles at Jace until Jace relents and makes him something with way too many calories and too much sugar, things that are _definitely_ not on the menu.

“You’ve got a freakish metabolism,” Jace marvels, watching Simon scarf down sugar cookies without abandon. Simon doesn’t even look up from where he’s one-handedly typing out an email to his manager about when he can come back into the studio to rerecord harmonies.

“I made a deal with an otherworldly entity to have a separate indestructible dessert stomach,” he says absently, and then he laughs when Jace slaps at his shoulder. “It’s true!”

“ _Is it_.”

Simon finally looks up, grinning. “Yeah, the entity is called the gym,” he says, and then he immediately regrets it when Jace’s face transforms like he’s just heard the greatest news of his life.

“ _You_ ,” Jace says, awestruck, “the guy that lives off of the top three categories of the food pyramid only – you go to the gym?”

“Clary makes me,” Simon says defensively. “Do you really think she and I have the type of friendship where she’ll just accept that I’m lazy and let it go?”

Jace harrumphs, tossing a dish towel over his shoulder and looking like an irate housewife. “In my defense, Clary eats Taco Bell a lot.”

Simon makes a disbelieving noise. “ _Everyone_ eats Taco Bell. Even your brother sneaks it when he knows you’re not home, you absolute maniac.”

“Traitor,” Jace mutters, before he focuses back on Simon. “You’re avoiding the topic. What gym do you go to? We can work out together.”

Simon eyes Jace’s biceps dubiously. “Yeah, I don’t think that’s something that should happen, for the sake of my own self-confidence.” He reaches over and squeezes Jace’s arm affectionately, making an exaggerated face of astonishment when Jace automatically flexes. “ _Wow_ , muscles! Couldn’t have guessed that one, you health nut.”

“Working out relaxes me,” Jace says, leaning against the counter and doing a bicep curl with the napkin dispenser, smirking at Simon. “Come on, dude, your self-confidence will be fine. My brother runs the gym, we’ll get a discount.”

“I don’t want to,” Simons says petulantly, and then, because he has no sense of self-preservation, he asks “What time?”

.

“I don’t think I understand,” Maia says when he brings up the topic of Jace. “He…likes you? And this is…a problem in your world.”

Simon’s sprawled out on her and Bat’s couch, munching on pretzels and staring forlornly at the ceiling. Bat wanders over and placidly pokes at Simon’s feet until Simon gets the hint and lets Bat settle on the couch, drawing his knees up.

“More importantly,” Bat asks mildly, “why did you come to our apartment right after what is probably the equivalent of a date for health nuts? Do you not put out on the first date? Because if so, Maia and I will protect your delicate – “

Simon throws a pretzel at him. “It wasn’t a date, it was just a gym session with a buddy. I’m not dating, remember?”

“It’s ten in the morning on a Saturday. You woke up at seven just to lift weights with someone who looks like the frat guys who used to pass out in the halls of our dorm in college,” Bat says, unrepentant. “I’m detecting strong tones of _eau de romance_ , with a hint of emotionally constipated adult man-child.”

“You are so mean. Maia, your roommate is _so mean –_ “

“You shouldn’t have introduced me to him, then.” Maia stands and walks over to the sofa, staring down at Simon with her hands on her hips. “We’ve been over this. Being hurt by someone else isn’t a great excuse for shutting yourself off completely. At the very least, Jace deserves an _explanation_.”

Simon shuffles into a sitting position and lets Maia sit beside him and pat his shoulder sympathetically as he tries not to let his guilt from Maia’s words eat him alive. She’s right, of course, like all of his friends usually are. Simon’s not twelve anymore, and he can avoid it all he likes, but Jace is hilarious, quietly empathetic, and doesn’t take Simon’s shit lying down. If Simon could get over himself and let his broken heart believe in something soft and tender again, he could fucking admit to himself that he’s been looking for someone like Jace all his life.

He feels a bit like he’s in Hercules; he makes his escape from Maia and Bat’s apartment thinking sullenly _I won’t say it, no, no._

.

“I’ve brought a peace offering,” Simon announces, setting a plate down in front of Jace. Jace looks up from his inventory sheet and sniffs.

“You brought cookies into a cafe?” he asks. “That’s definitely poor manners, Lewis. This is _not_ a bring-your-own-cookies shop.” He still peeks under the foil, though, and his forehead creases in confusion.

“They’re strawberry cheesecake bites,” Simon says, fiddling with the strap of his messenger bag, and then he lowers his voice and whispers, “and they’re _vegan_.”

Jace’s eyes widen. “Holy shit!” he says gleefully, and then he’s dropping his inventory clipboard and ripping the cover off to stuff one of the violently off-color pink cookies into his mouth. “This isn’t bad,” he says through a mouthful, and Simon groans.

“I sure as hell hope so,” he says, “because Medjool dates are so damn expensive.”

Jace raises an eyebrow and taps the plate. “I’m keeping all of these,” he says, and then he disappears to the back. Simon hears the sound of one of the fridge doors opening and shutting. “What’s the occasion?” Jace calls out from the kitchen. “Is it my birthday? Your birthday? Your _cat’s_ birthday?”

“I don’t have a cat.” Simon hops over the counter and wanders into the back, watching as Jace checks on something in the oven and pokes at a gelatinous mixture setting in the freezer. “It’s my apology.”

“For what? Did you give me a bad review on Yelp or something, because I swear to God, Lewis – “

“For that day. In the grocery store.” Simon clears his throat. “I shouldn’t have run away from you, and I should have told you why.”

Jace freezes. Simon can see the way his shoulder stiffens, and then he turns around, his face set in a determinedly casual expression. “We _really_ don’t need to talk about it,” Jace says, giving Simon a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

Simon remains firm in his conviction, because now that he’s started this he’s going to see it through to the end, damn it. “We _do_.”

Jace crosses his arms and leans back against the counter, sighing. “You’ve got seven minutes before I need to take that tray out of the oven.”

Jace looks tired and resigned, like he’s steeling himself for something he knows is going to disappoint him. Simon’s throat is suddenly dry, and his chest is filled with an unbearable fondness for the man standing in front of him. Jace is _trying_ , in his own stupid way, and has been trying for so long, and Simon hasn’t even met him in the middle for all his efforts.

Simon takes a deep breath, and crosses his arms, then uncrosses them, and then makes several jerky motions with them. He doesn’t really know what to say or how to do this, but he tries. “I had a really bad breakup,” he says in a rush, and Jace just keeps looking at him, steady and serious.

He soldiers on. “I mean, it sounds stupid now, but like – it really messed me up. It was someone who just kept coming back into my life, and I had this idea of them that wasn’t really who they were, and I just – okay, it’s kind of a long story. But,” he takes a step closer and tries to _will_ Jace to understand through the sheer power of his pleading gaze, “it made me really, really afraid to put any bit of my heart on the line again.”

Jace looks at the ground, and then back up at Simon. His expression softens. “It’s not stupid. You don’t have to explain yourself, Simon.”

“No,” Simon takes another step forward. He’s almost too close to Jace; one more step will put him firmly past the point of no return, past the point of writing it all off as a joke. It feels like Jace’s presence is sucking all the oxygen out of the room, leaving the air thick with tension between them. “I’m doing a thing, and I’m gonna do it right.”

The corner of Jace’s mouth lifts into a tiny smile, “Simon – “

Simon takes another step and reaches out with a shaky hand to rest his fingers across the top of Jace’s shirt, the tips of his fingers barely brushing the skin of Jace’s collarbone. Jace is watching him carefully as he brings his own hand up to cover Simon’s, squeezing reassuringly. There’s an electric current skittering between them, fraught with a longing Simon’s mostly managed to shove to the backburner until now.  

“You are _infuriating_ ,” Simon says, biting his lip. “And you’ve got the strangest palate. And you don’t listen to anybody? And you’re too buff for someone who wears aprons with cats on them.”

“Mm hm.” Jace nods, the corners of his eyes crinkling. He shifts so that he’s leaning with his legs settled further apart, drawing Simon’s gaze to the way his shirt is rucked up around his waist, a sliver of skin peeking out. “You’re something else, Simon Lewis.”

“What is _that_ supposed to mean?”

“It means I’ve never wanted to get on someone’s nerves as badly as I want to get on yours,” Jace smiles at him, genuine and open. It’s just about the most beautiful thing Simon’s ever seen in his life.

Simon holds his breath, and steps closer. Their knees knock together, and Simon slides his other hand around to Jace’s waist. “Is that so?”

“Mm,” Jace says distractedly, his eyes dropping to linger on Simon’s lips, “without a doubt,” and then he’s kissing Simon, hand coming up to cradle Simon’s jaw. Simon makes a noise that falls somewhere between disbelief and a wanton moan, and it’s embarrassing to say the least, but it makes Jace smile against his lips and then press in harder, his other hand coming up to cup Simon’s neck.

Kissing Jace is just as achingly good as Simon always secretly imagined it would be, with Jace parting his lips and bearing down on Simon desperately, like he can’t get enough of it either. Simon presses closer, feeling Jace shift under him to bracket Simon’s hips with his thighs, and a wave of want slams into him as he hears the faint scraping of their belt buckles knocking together. He slides the hand he has on Jace’s chest up to grip the tiny bun Jace’s hair is in and tug the elastic out; Jace makes a muffled noise when his hair falls loose around his face, and then moans roughly when Simon pulls, jerking Jace’s head back enough that Jace pulls himself away from the kiss.

“You’ve got _very_ stereotypical turn-ons,” Simon murmurs. Jace rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t deny it, a pink flush starting at the tips of his ears. Simon smiles slowly, carding his fingers through Jace’s hair, and then he presses a line of kisses up Jace’s jaw, just to see the blush deepen. Jace sighs and presses their foreheads together, closing his eyes. The tension between them settles into something sweeter and less frenzied, something that’s rich with promise for the future.

“You okay, Lewis?” Jace asks softly.

Simon closes his eyes. “Yeah,” he says, and he finally really means it.

.

“We’re dating now, you have to eat what I give you.” Jace says a week later, trying to feed Simon oatmeal raisin cookies. “This isn’t even that healthy, it’s a compromise!”

Simon does a little hop jump to get to the other side of Jace’s dining table, escaping the cookie Jace is thrusting at him. “It’s the _principle_ of the thing, Jace,” he says wisely, and Jace makes a frustrated noise.

“You’ll thank me when you’re fifty and look like a silver fox,” Jace says threateningly, but there’s a smile lurking at the corner of his eyes, and Simon likes the way Jace is looking at him, fond and exasperated, too much to keep up the front. He laughs.

“Alright, _darling_ ,” he says mockingly, taking the cookie and leaning across the table to press a smacking kiss on Jace’s lips. “But we’re going to Chipotle next week.”

Jace catches Simon’s hand and hauls him over the table for a deeper, messier kiss that tastes like cinnamon. Simon lets the cookie clatter to the floor and kisses back enthusiastically. Compromise, Simon decides, has a nice flavor to it.

.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> my [ tumblr ](http://eversall.tumblr.com/).


End file.
